


by grace alone

by euphyeggs



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Allusions to Non-Consensual Sex, Doing the Deed in the Vault, Dubious Consent, F/M, Heavensward Location Spoilers, Midlander Warrior of Light, Slight Mentions of Estinien/WoL, Slight Religious Themes, Vaginal Sex, ishgard-based warrior of light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26281093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphyeggs/pseuds/euphyeggs
Summary: Fallen from her high pedestal as a hero of the realm and at the mercy of the powers that be in the very place she had evaded certain death from, Grinnaux finally had Euphemie at her most vulnerable, by way of events that even he could not have made up himself.Takes place right after the 3.0 MSQ Quest, "Disclosure".
Relationships: Grinnaux de Dzemael/Warrior of Light
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	by grace alone

**Author's Note:**

> this is the darkest, most sinful thing i've ever posted to AO3 and it just had to involve the heavensward who i believe are underappreciated and were slighted for plot progression purposes. don't be deceived by the tidbits of backstory and hints to lore crafting, this is still first and foremost the tangiest, zestiest spice i've ever posted to this site (for now).

Euphemie had managed to flee death twice: after the first, rumors abounded as to whether it was due to a blessing imparted to her by the goddess as a sign of her own innocence, or by the intervention of something darker. Now with the second the rumors were rejuvenated with new interest, as this time she found herself with nowhere to go but back to the very same place from which she had escaped.

Yet Grinnaux could care less for the truth, for regardless of how it happened it still brought her here, ensnared like prey in his dominion, a sun turned flickering star between his arms. Fallen from her high pedestal as a hero of the realm and at the mercy of the powers that be in the very place she had evaded certain death from, Grinnaux finally had Euphemie at her most vulnerable, by way of events that even he could not have made up himself.

She had arrived in a gown of white lace that followed her curves a bit too closely to be considered modest for a follower of the Fury, and both her entry and departure from the Archbishop’s presence had drawn glances from the knights, himself most guilty of all.

His scent is that of steel and musk, and of iron like that of dried blood. With someone like Grinnaux it was never the right time or place to inquire further on that, so she stayed silent and licked her lips while keeping her gaze set downwards at the floor beneath her feet.

“What is it that you want, Ser.” She was the same as before when it came to having no mask for the evident displeasure in her tone.

“I must be on my way.”

“Surely you haven’t forgotten what you owe me.” One step closer is all he takes, all he needs, before resting a slow and deliberate fist at the side of her head. She looked up at him with a ferocity in her eyes he failed to recall her having before—bright gray eyes the shade of a cloud with caught lightning.

“I owe you nothing.” Pure venom seethed through each word squeezed through her grit teeth, which only did well to widen his smirk.

“Oh _kitten_ , how I beg to differ.” Euphemie had heard the dark humor in his voice before, like an alarum sounding off to the others to make way for the something fierce that was the temper of the Bull. Only being his junior by a few years, through words alone she had done much to test his ego at their family’s social gatherings, and tested it enough to have her dragged away by terrified maids or what few knights were under the service of her father before the boy could do her any actual harm. Both had piqued one another’s curiosity in the worst ways possible, and for a while they had been content with forgetting.

But now in these hallowed halls Grinnaux had no intent of letting her go off easy, not for even the pettiest of her grievances done against him. While part of him goaded him on to lay claim to what the Dansereaus owed the Dzemaels, to lay claim in full—the other part of him knew all too well that this was a far more personal matter, a brand of self-seeking that he was notorious for.

“Don’t lie to me, lass.” He growled low in her ear while keeping her wrists chained to the wall in an iron grip, kneeing the fabric of her lace dress between her toned legs. She would evade her no further, and regardless of her newfound title, this so called ‘Warrior of Light’ was but the same person he had met years ago, a scampering kitten with a tail poised high behind the mask of a wily minx. This was for all the time he had spent chasing her, a girl in white, across gray stone paths and the dark green of once-flourishing gardens.

“You want this as much as I do.”

* * *

Her bravado falls apart at the seams when his lips grind into her own, when gauntlet-clad fingers tear apart the lace of her gown. The way the fabric ripples on the floor behind her make her look like some newlywed bride about to be deflowered on her wedding bed, pliant and awaiting. She knows that this is the closest he’ll ever get to having that, being a knight sworn to the Archbishop himself, and she suspects it is one of the few oaths he’s sworn to keep in his life, not out of devotion but out of his own personal preference. 

“I should have you tried—” He growled, pistoning his thrusts into her further, harder, anything to make her screams bounce off the high ceiling, for him and only him.

“—in front of the masses, with your precious Lord Commander watching—” Bared teeth wide in a grin, he hung his head lower, forcing her to meet his wicked gaze. This is exactly how he’d always wanted her, flustered and naked beneath him, reds and purples marking the slope of her neck to the valley of her breasts, a record of his conquest.

“—or better yet—” He took a breath, higher and almost euphoric, as his nails dug runs into the sleeves at her wrists.

“—that brooding dragoon, was it?” She gasped out loud at the thought of Estinien, while still not fully yielded to the power of Nidhogg, was ever in danger of succumbing to the wyrm’s will—

Grinnaux’s breath mingled with a cruel laugh as he prodded himself harder against her wet entrance, staining the white of her gown, the sharp edge of his armor already tearing holes in the skirt. He took her in fully, the sight of her trembling, on the floor of the Vault, in the realm of the most holy, dusky rose hair strewn behind her head the way a withered flower does when pressed, the way he’d laid waste to her garments, not unlike a bride’s trousseau. While his rank in the Ward kept him from taking a wife of his own—not to mention his unwillingness to have one in the first place—still persisted, he thought nothing of the oath of celibacy he and his fellow knights were pledged to, and the idea of having the would-have-been Baroness Dansereau as his own personal whore stretched his grin wider.

 _Blasphemous,_ just how he liked it.

“That shepherd boy,” She yelped as his teeth pierced the skin of her neck once again.

“Care to remind me, kitten?” She swallowed and shook her head against the cold hard floor, wincing as she fluttered around the fullness of his length. Her hazy gaze met the blinding light of the afternoon sun that poured through the tall, ornate windows, stretching their shadows long and empty like a scorched burn on the pristine floor.

At her hesitation he brushed his nose against the valley of her breasts, against the flecks of red that he’d left alongside silvery scars inflicted on her by someone, something else, and drove his teeth into the sensitive skin once more.

“E-EST—”

“Louder.” His bite drew out a bead of blood.

“Essss—tinien--!!” He grinned. The thought of having this all proclaimed by the judge before her trial, in front of all the spectators, some of which he knew fancied her a great deal and, he had to thank for their part in keeping her alive this long to bring her to him—all in full view of seeing him corner her, crush her, defile her in public view with her screams piercing the room—

 _“ESTINIEN!!”_ Hoarse and shivering, she sobbed out the name of that damned Wyrmblood, fingers knit into his hair as her back arched in threat of her incoming orgasm.

Euphemie’s scream was cut short when she finally came, while he was still going in full rhythm inside her sore womanhood, eyes fixated on the image of the Fury herself, bearing her shield and spear, staring down at her with the cold apathy that befitted her too well. It seemed like long ago that she had stopped believing, that her faith had been shattered like glass into dust, and now as she felt his white hot release against her thigh, it seemed like the penultimate end to whatever piety she still held in the deep recesses of her heart.

Almost affectionately her fingers remained curled in his hair, with nothing but their intermingled breaths and the muffled echoes of a choir’s rehearsal in the distance serving to fill the empty, hollow room, and again she was reminded of how such a place was meant to make anyone feel small by merely existing inside it.  
  
Instead of feeling the fear he probably meant to instill in her through this carnal act, she felt oddly cathartic, as if by yielding to this, here of all places, had made her further and further down the line of no salvation.

“…Do I owe you anything else?” She whispered, deprived of energy yet still full of fire, at which he let out a snort, the side of his cheek pressed just under her collarbone. Even with the scent of sex and sweat, she still smelled sweet.

“You weren’t supposed to enjoy it.” Grinnaux withdrew from her, sliding his armor back into place as she watched from beneath him, still sprawled with only the tattered lace gown between her and the amber-lighted floor. She almost looked like a religious icon had it not been for the marks across her skin or the bodily fluids that gave her inner thighs a sheen.

“I suppose I’ve disappointed you again.” She breathes and grins, but he only scoffs as he stood in full armor once again above her.

“I’ll give you credit for being true to one thing.” He rolled his eyes and turned to make his exit, with her sitting up and wrapping the remnants of her dress around her, laughing bitterly at the trueness of his words.

For once, she agreed with him.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! and my thanks to the [book club](https://discord.com/invite/YgkDStS) for this blasphemous creation, along with others (you know who you are : ) c ).


End file.
